Explanation
by T.T. Darby
Summary: A Titan is gone; the others try to piece it together. [Rated for morbidity.]
1. Introitus

Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.

Author's note: I'm feeling morbid today. Enjoy.

* * *

It was after they had seen the corpse dragged from the sea, after they had looked in horror at the bloated blue face and lolling tongue, after the paramedics covered the body with a blanket and hoisted it, grunting, into the back of the ambulance, after they had numbly walked back inside, that Robin found the letter.

The envelope was slightly yellowed, as if aged, as if someone had written it long ago and stored it a way for the perfect moment. On the back was a bright red wax seal holding the flap closed.

Robin lacked the cognitive ability to make head or tail of it.

"It's a note," he said thickly, waving it in his three friends' faces. After some reflection, he added: "She must have left it."

All at once Robin felt immensely tired. He could do nothing else, he decided, before he took a seat and rested for a moment. The others followed his lead.

Several minutes later, he turned to the envelope. His hands still felt clumsy; his eyes were inexplicably blurred, and he tore the sheet of paper because the wax refused to crumble. He gazed: there were only three lines, each written in black ink.

"Dear Titans," it began, but the T was crossed twice; it might almost have been an upper-case F.

Robin's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Dear Titans," he read.

"If you're reading this, it's because I'm dead. You may read my notebook.

"Raven."

All eyes turned to the tiny leather-bound book on the table in front of them.

Silence welled up.

Beast Boy shifted his weight:

"That's Raven's notebook," he announced.

The others nodded.

"We're not allowed to read it," he said.

A timeless interval was spent processing that.

Robin wanted to speak up, wanted to explain that this was different, really different, because Raven was dead and her threats couldn't hurt anymore, and besides the letter said they could.

Instead, he sat. They all did.

He didn't know how long it would last, that exquisite balance between curiosity and fear, between responsibility and apathy. He didn't want to move and destroy the delicate harmony, but duty, as it often did, compelled him.

He reached toward the book. Three pairs of eyes followed. He carefully pulled open the cover, as one might handle the Declaration of Independence.

"Raven's notebook," he read, in much the same manner as he had the note.

"Do not read this. Extreme pain will result."

Robin considered that Beast Boy was right. The best thing to do was to put it down, and go somewhere safe – to hide – like his room. But something forced him to continue. He turned the page.

"This is a record. They will be curious later. They will ask, How did it happen? They will know what 'it' is. They will ask, and be unable to answer. So I'm going to give them the answer. Today" – she gave a date almost five weeks earlier – "I have made my decision. The rest of my life will be spent explaining it."

Robin paused to let it sink in. He licked his lips and turned the page again.


	2. Part I

Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.

* * *

Robin read from the notebook:

"Let me begin by setting your consciences at ease: it was no one's fault. If it makes you feel better, you might blame Fate, but I'm disinclined to believe in it. You might equally well blame God, or Life, or the Universe in general, but in all those your judgment would be misplaced. This was my decision.

"Certainly, it's easier to blame things on some outside force, something that might compel me against my will to do it – but just because it's easier doesn't make it true. I apologize, but you must live with the fact that it was a choice, that this is what I wanted.

"So there's no need to blame yourselves. Instead, I ask that you seek understanding. This was my decision; I made it of my own accord; the best you can do is try to realize how I came to it."

Robin looked up.

"That's the end of the first entry."

Again, silence – except the faint tapping of a light rain on the windows.

No one moved.

"She . . . wished to die," said Starfire.

"I don't want to believe it," mumbled Cyborg. "But she seems so certain."

"Seemed," corrected Beast Boy. He rested his chin on his hands.

It was a difficult realization for all of them – Raven was past-tense now.

"And now," finished Robin, "she wants us to know why."

He hesitated.

"You know," said Cyborg, "I'm not sure I want to hear it."

"She wants us to know," Robin insisted, surprising himself. "It was her dying wish, and we have to honor it!"

Cyborg threw up his hands in defense.

"Calm down, Robin," he said. "I don't mean any dishonor. Just not all at once, you know? It's a lot to handle."

"Perhaps Cyborg is right, Robin," put in Starfire.

"You don't think you can take it?"

"No," cried Beast Boy, "we can't. At least, I can't. I can't deal with it right now – I need time. Let's put down the book."

"And then what?"

"We should eat something – we all should. Long day."

"Perfect," spat Robin. He stood. "Our friend is dead, and all you can think about is stuffing your fat face."

"Hey!"

"You make me sick. You all do," said Robin. "I'm going to my room. When you guys decide you care, come find me." He flung the black book at Beast Boy. The changeling ducked, and the book glanced harmlessly off the computer console behind him, coming to rest on the carpet. Robin stormed from the room.

Cyborg put a hand on Beast Boy's shoulder:

"He's under a lot of stress, B.B."

Beast Boy smiled wanly.

"I was serious about eating. I'm feeling empty."

"I know. I feel it too."

"Oh," said Starfire, "I hope Robin is alright. On Tamaran, such outbursts on the day of a friend's death would be considered rude."

"It's rude on Earth, too, Star," said Beast Boy.

"I don't think we should read without him," said Cyborg.

"Definitely not," agreed Beast Boy. "But let's give it a day or so."

The three Titans gathered in the kitchen.

"It's funny," said Beast Boy, lifting a small box from its place on the shelf. "I always thought tea was a bunch of leaves in a cup. I thought it was for people who were too good for soda. You know: don't like the taste, but drink it to look cool." He turned on a burner. "It never struck me as remotely satisfying." He picked a pot from its customary place and held it under the tap. "But today, I really want some," he finished, as he placed the pot on the burner.

"I know what you mean," said Cyborg. "Put me down for a cup."

"I will also partake," said Starfire.

"I'm hopelessly sentimental," smiled Beast Boy, studying the box he held. "This was Raven's favorite blend." He set down the box and reached for the shelf where the teacups lay.


	3. Part II

Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.

* * *

"Beautiful," muttered Robin. It was clear that thirty-six hours alone in his room had done nothing to help his mood. He stooped to pick up the notebook where it had lain untouched and deposited it on a low table. "I see no one bothered to pick up Raven's final words," he said loudly.

Cyborg, Starfire and Beast Boy sat silently in the kitchen, intent on their now-customary cups of tea. Finally, Beast Boy lifted his head:

"We were waiting for you."

"Here I am," said Robin. He peered into the kitchen. "Tea. Cute."

Starfire's eyes glowed a dangerous green.

"We happen to like tea, Robin," she said forcefully.

"Sure," said Robin, unconvinced. "Bunch of leaves and sticks in a cup, right, Beast Boy? You're really doing her memory justice."

"Hey, man," – Cyborg slammed his cup to the table – "you've got no right."

"Oh no? Come over here, you three; let's read. We'll see who's got the right to say what."

"I thought you'd never ask." Cyborg's voice took on a competitive tone usually reserved for video games.

When they were all situated on the couch, Robin picked up the book once more. He opened it almost carelessly, bending the cover back.

"Second entry," he said. "This one's a week later." He cleared his throat.

"My life is empty," he read. "I don't expect you to take offense to that, but if you do, let me clarify: it has nothing to do with you. My life has not been boring; it has been empty. I have had any number of activities to fill my day-to-day existence.

"What I refer to is a more philosophical emptiness. I doubt very much you can understand it, but I'll try to explain: you all have something to look forward to. I do not. That's the underlying problem.

"There's not one bright spot in my wretched existence. Sure, defeating villains has its moments, but day after day I have defeated villains. All the traditional milestones – birthdays, weddings, births, anniversaries, even simple good days – are closed to me, for they are emotional milestones.

"I cannot feel. I suspect you have been aware of that for some time. I do not expect you to realize the depth of hopelessness it causes. My life has no purpose. I cannot make myself happy, and aside from simple physical involvement, I cannot make others happy. My sole purpose in life is to avoid causing destruction.

"Would not a final solution be far simpler?"

The Titans took a moment to absorb the words.

"That's it?" asked Beast Boy.

"For this entry," Robin confirmed.

"I'd say that ties it up rather neatly," said Cyborg. "What's in the rest of the book? What happens during the other four weeks?"

"I don't know," admitted Robin.

"She might possibly wish to convey the feeling of no feeling," offered Starfire.

"Yeah," added Beast Boy, "that could take some time. It confuses me."

"It would," muttered Robin.

Beast Boy was on his feet:

"What's your problem?"

"Oh, come on, Beast Boy" – Robin stood to face him. "You've never kept your emotions separate from anything."

"Oh yeah?"

"Well," smirked the Boy Wonder, "I'm working from memory here, but I seem to recall a certain blonde girl who felt isolated and betrayed when you were around."

"That was not my fault!" Beast Boy shouted at the top of his lungs.

"No one's saying it is," tried Cyborg.

"Oh, yes he is." Beast Boy and Robin stood nose-to-nose. "That's just what Red X here is saying."

"You would bring that up," snorted Robin.

"Someone mentioned betrayal. I thought it was relevant."

"That had a higher purpose, and you know it."

"Of course it did. Everything has a higher purpose with you – gotta catch Slade, right?"

"Right! I'm the only thing that stands between Jump City and destruction."

"Do you not mean 'we,' friend Robin?" interjected Starfire.

Robin stepped backward, relaxed for a moment. His face reddened slightly.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "The Teen Titans."

"I swear to you," declared Beast Boy, "I do not need this right now." With that, he swept from the room.

"Where are you going?" shouted Cyborg.

"Out," came the response, followed by a dull clang as the door closed.

Robin sat again.

"Unprofessional, that's what that is."

"Cut him some slack, man." Cyborg wiped his forehead. "His friend committed suicide."

"And what was she to us?" demanded Robin.

"She was our friend, too. That's what I'm saying. We're all frustrated. We're in this together."

Robin covered his face.

"I just wish we didn't have to deal with it."

"That makes four of us."

"I might brew a fresh pot of tea," announced Starfire.

Cyborg proffered his empty cup.

"No, thanks, Star," said Robin. "Let me grab a soda."


	4. Part III

Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.

Author's note: Sorry; no writing yesterday or most of today. It's Rosh Hashanah – I had to break to eat apples and honey and other delicacies. Now I'm back, and we can return to the story.

* * *

Beast Boy sat on a rock, staring out to sea. The water by the horizon was a steely gray. The light, pervasive rain that had started at that moment two days ago continued now. The tiny waves that broke steadily near his feet were nearly clear. He reached into the water with his hand.

Cold.

So he could still feel. He had been numb the past forty or so hours, except for that outburst with Robin.

Stupid Robin. What's his deal? He didn't have to bring her up – bring _it_ up, Beast Boy corrected himself. It was easier to think of her as an "event."

He idly flicked a pebble. It fell into the water, any trace removed by the steady waves.

Raven made two. The people he cared about were dying. He was alone – no, he had to remind himself, he wasn't. He had Cyborg and Starfire . . . and Robin.

But the present wasn't important! It was the past, and Raven, and her explanation.

_Seek understanding_. Her words returned.

But I don't understand, he thought.

_Seek_.

And all at once he remembered, and he had to grip the rock under him to keep from tumbling into the frigid water.

Countless days – they must have been only a few weeks ago – and he was playing videogames and happened to look around, and she was there. And it was in her hand. The small black book, to which he hadn't given any thought.

She was probably writing it right then. She was probably saying goodbye as he sat, absorbed in a video game, and paid her no mind.

His fingers tightened on the rock. There was rage; he wanted to direct it at Robin, the arrogant dick, or Raven, the cause of all this; he wanted to direct it anywhere but inward. But it stayed. Beast Boy hated himself. It was a passionate hate, full of loathing, cursing himself for inaction. For a second he saw himself, pulled from the water, his face bluer, not green, and the ghastly purple tongue hanging slack. If he had only –

_This is what I wanted_. Words came again from the book.

How could you want it? Who made you? Who could have saved you?

_What I wanted_.

That's impossible. Someone must have – if it was me, I swear –

_My decision_.

It couldn't have been – there was no way – and Beast Boy realized that he would probably never understand. It would be the most painful thing to happen to him; he would sit there, and Raven's words would come forth, and he wouldn't understand. He couldn't. He'd sit there, he knew, slack-jawed and failing. He was failing at the one thing Raven wanted him to do.

_Seek understanding_.

But I can't. It's beyond me. I'm failing. Every moment I sit here, I don't seek.

Beast Boy stood; he stepped into the water. It was cold and swirled around his ankles. He looked off to the horizon as the gentle rain continued to fleck his face.

He took a step forward – no. Not like this. He wasn't Raven; he knew that much. In the Tower, there must be something. Something sharp. He saw it in his mind; he was there, and a puddle of red stickiness, and someone standing over him, and a shrill cry that stretched off to infinity.

He coughed, and for the first time in the past two days, Beast Boy cried – not for his comrade already dead, but for himself.


	5. Part IV

Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans.

Author's note: I guess it was a bit of a cliffhanger. I apologize for not writing anything for three months. It was just getting good, I gather. Well, here goes.

* * *

His vision was blurred. Strange – it turned the red flecks on the tile into streaks, and the room, the metal fixtures and white tile and the mirror, melted into oblivion. That wasn't supposed to happen. If they found him with the tears now in his eyes staining his cheeks – no one cries – she didn't –

It wasn't supposed to hurt. It was supposed to stop the hurt.

* * *

Robin turned over. He'd slept in his clothes. That happened a lot now, and he hadn't quite gotten used to the heavy, sticky feeling. He plucked at the skintight fabric.

"Shower," he muttered. He glanced at the bedside clock: six-fifteen. He sat up; his foot knocked an empty paper cup. He stood, crushing it mindlessly. He grabbed the red towel from the bedpost, rooted through a small but growing laundry pile for a bar of soap and shuffled to the hallway.

He used a fist to mash clumsily at a sleep-caked eye, then tapped at the bathroom door. No answer, of course. It was early still. He pushed it –

* * *

"Only three of us left," said Cyborg. The numbness had returned. "Three-fifths. Sixty percent of the Titans."

"Oh, you can add." Robin tossed the sheet of notebook paper on the table. Cyborg sat up, reached for the crumpled leaf. He smoothed it carefully on his knee. The letters dominated the page in uncontrolled block forms: SEEK.

"Subtract, more like," he said.

Robin, Cyborg and Starfire sat in the common room. The orange sun slanted in through the plate glass, casting the room in a late-afternoon glow. Beast Boy had long since been – addressed.

"What can we do?" asked Starfire. "Please" – she spoke quietly – "I do not wish to lose any more friends."

"We're here, Star," said Cyborg. "We're not going anywhere."

Robin stared at the table, as he had for several of the past hours.

"He couldn't handle it," he said finally. "Beast Boy couldn't take the stress."

"We're all stressed," put in Cyborg.

"But he cracked." Robin's tone was controlled. "This business will stress anyone. The only way to succeed is to take more punishment than the other guy."

"But this sort of thing –"

"He failed."

Cyborg's mouth opened. Starfire touched her forehead.

"Beast Boy failed," Robin continued. "He tried to deal with it, but he couldn't shut it out, and now we're down two members. Do you think Slade'll give us time to get over our loss? Now's the time to dig in."

Cyborg leaned forward.

"Enough," he said quietly.

"Now, more than ever, we have to –"

"Enough!"

Cyborg was on his feet. The yell seemed to echo through the quiet hallways of Titans Tower.

"Cyborg," Robin began.

"Don't do it, Robin. Don't turn this into a pep talk. Don't tell me what my job is, don't tell me how to succeed, and most of all, don't tell me about B.B.'s failures." The half-robot fell back into his seat. "I don't need it right now. Right now" – his voice started to rise again – "my best friend is in a metal box in a sub-sub-basement in a hospital. You tell me, Robin, how you're helping. Tell me what you're doing right now that's making me feel better." The human eye was rimmed in red.

Robin stood up.

"Stupid me," he said. "Cyborg wants to feel better." He strode towards his room. "Everyone wants to feel better."


End file.
